


a different kind of magic

by LaStrega



Category: Druck | SKAM (Germany)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Herbalism, M/M, Mythology References, Plant Magic, Symbolism, Water Magic, Water as a metaphor, a very sweet eldritch monster, idiots to lovers, maybe i tried for ghibli vibes?, they are both stupid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:26:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23350153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaStrega/pseuds/LaStrega
Summary: David has grown up in a respected and old family with a long history of magicIf his magic wouldn't try to kill him, that would be peachy, so he sets out to find a siren, but they are stuff of legend. Maybe he will be lucky when he meets a rag-tag gang of assorted witches and wizards who seem to have a siren in their midst?!Also if he could stop being an idiot in front of cute boys on top of everything else...Would be great
Relationships: Matteo Florenzi/David (Druck)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gleedegrassibigfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gleedegrassibigfan/gifts).



> Hey fellow gays, it's me, I am back (insert Mushu yelling "I ILVE" gif)
> 
> Sorry for not updating the vampire au for so long some stuff happened and anyway
> 
> but yeah i am back, have this mess (it has two parts and i know its rushed but eh)
> 
> Harper, this is for u, i lov u <3

_You are destined for greatness_ , his godmother had said when she handed him his very own grimoire at his naming ceremony. It had been passed down from generation to generation until it had found its rightful owner.

Destiny can go fuck itself, David thinks violently as he lugs yet another bucket full of water from the living room. Destiny counts for shit when half your flat is under water because you cannot control your magic.

The expectations are big and the council has its eyes on him ever since he declared who he is and what he wants. Ever since he called the water in front of them and it sang back with the force of a rushing river, they have been watching him.

They want him to travel to the sea, to find a siren, a creature of legends. Only if he lets her teach him, his powers will obey him. At least that is what the council said, what his grandfather told him to do. But he cannot leave just yet, when he hasn’t even ventured past the borders of this town before or after he made himself known, let alone ever shown his true face to anyone but Laura and the council.

His older sister has it easier than him. Her body adapted to magic like a duck to water and her spells are so powerful that they make her be able to listen to the earth, make it bend to her command. She has told him countless times that it is not her who bends the earth, who makes their plants grow so lusciously, even in winter, but the earth itself. She just listens and does as it demands. At least that is what Laura told him and he trusts her.

But leaving her here to try and find a siren who might not even teach him but kill him instead? No thank you.

And as if his magic had ears, it rushes upwards, through his body. It makes him feel as if he is under water, without oxygen and he struggles to breathe for a second before the feeling subsides and the living room is flooded again.

He curses. Loudly. He has no other choice but to find that siren. If she doesn’t kill him, his magic will.

Feeling oddly determined, he packs his bags that evening, after the flat has been successfully dried and tended to. Laura stuffs far too much dried fruit into his backpack and practically plasters him with protective spells, holding him tightly, her smell of fresh earth and grass cuttings so familiar in his nose.

“Promise me that you will come back alive. If you ever are in danger, take this, smash it and call out my name, I will come and save you,” she whispers and hands him a small, round glass bottle, inhabiting a ball of moss.

He leaves without looking back. It is better this way.

May he should have.

He travels through the day without stopping, his feet carrying him to the sea almost on their own accord. Some of the people are as stingy with their words as they are with their wares, others claim to never have seen a siren in these parts and then there are those who throw up protective charms and run away as soon as they spot him. It is no use. His legs hurt, he misses his home and maybe the sirens are only legends after all. No one has ever really seen them and to expect a novice warlock to find one? His first steps into the outside world have been decidedly shitty and he wants to go home, sit in the kitchen and watch Laura cook while she sings in bad French. Anything but this weird hostility.

He is about to give up, his heated feet greedily lapping up the coldness of the water gently rushing around him, the moonlight but a single sliver, cutting through the darkness when he hears the singing. It is faint but he can hear her.

Someone who at least sings like a siren. Finally.

He will not run. He will not. He is a warlock of a respected family spanning generations of powerful users of magic. He can powerwalk but he will not run.

(Maybe he breaks out into a small jog but don’t tell anyone)

The singing stops and a door opens in the darkness, warm light spilling from the entryway as if someone had hung a small sun there. It is a house. Brick walls, old windows crowded by vines that are visible even in the darkness and a pathway paved with stones as big as David’s head. It is practically thrumming with magic.

If David stands any chance in finding the siren, it is here.

“Linn!” a female voice calls out into the darkness and a light shines from the palm of a slender hand. The same warmth as the light in the house. “Come in or Hans will be terribly worried about you. You know how he gets.”

Has his luck turned so drastically? A house full of magic and they are harbouring a siren by the looks of it. He has to find lodgings there and beg her to teach him.

Or maybe he is just desperate and starting to see things.

A branch breaks behind him and he flinches when a soft and slightly cold aura touches his own. His magic calls out, sings into his ears like a loud gong and the crashing of the waves is hitting the shore is almost like a heartbeat.

Her eyes are odd, shifting colours like the sea, her hair is tipped green, flowing freely along her high cheekbones and pale face. Her voice is gentle even though her teeth are sharp.

“Come with me. You must be tired after travelling this far.”

He gulps but follows her, feeling caught and chastised, his hands stuffed into his trouser pockets, fists clenching and unclenching nervously.

The first thing he notices is the sheer amount of knickknacks, colourful baubles, pieces of sea glass strung together by mooring rope, seashells and fossilised corals strewn over every available surface. There are plants somewhere stuck in that mess too and Laura would feel bad for them, he knows she would and he misses her so much and oh.

There are several pairs of eyes intently looking at him (Not staring because that would mean that he is intimidated and he is not). He slowly appraises them, keeping his guard up like he taught himself.

The girl with the strange eyes, another girl, this one with her blonde hair in a long bob, hand still held aloft, a small light residing in the centre of her palm, pressing itself against her fingers as if it were an affectionate pet, clad in a light blue sweater and pyjama bottoms.

The third person is a man, he is young but seems older than the other two, at least for outward appearances. He has a warm aura that envelops David almost like a hug, his magic welcoming and kind in a way that only Laura’s has made him feel before. He is wearing a very pink bathrobe and a curious expression on his face.

“Another weary traveller in search for the big adventure?”, the man asks and as his magic, his voice is kind and warm, has a little bit of a teasing lilt to it. “Welcome to our humble coven of four. Matteo must be holed up in his room again but do not mind him. I am Hans, you have already met my lovely Linn and this is Mia. Your name is…?” he trails off and David knows that his family is notorious, very old and respected, because when he tells them, eyebrows raise and looks are shared but none of them say anything or ask any more questions.

David is actually kind of glad for it as he is suddenly bone tired and nothing would be better than a bed right now. He is provided with a sofa, Hans making a big show of adjusting the pillows just so and wearing a shit eating grin that David cannot really be mad about when all he wants is sleep. Blessed sleep…

Until he falls off the sofa in the middle of the night and lands on the floor with a soft _thump_ and a muffled ‘ow’. For a moment he blinks, disoriented and still very sleepy, his blanket pooled around him in a heap. There is a gentle glow coming from the kitchen and then soft footsteps come closer, stopping in his eyesight. Pale, long toes, slightly scarred and slender feet, lanky legs in a tartan pyjama bottom attached to… probably the most beautiful boy David has ever seen.

_This must be Matteo_ , his brain supplies helpfully after it stops yelling about blue eyes and a sleepy, crooked smile. Something vaguely cat-shaped nudges his knee and he clears his throat awkwardly. “Hi,” he whispers and hopes that his voice isn’t croaky or breathless.

The boy sits down next to him and hands him a cup, a bit damaged at the edges but still beautifully green. He gathers the cat shaped being into his lap and strokes its midnight-black fur, silent for a moment until he speaks. “Can’t sleep either?” he asks, his voice soft and careful while David sips the tea, tasting chamomile and something else, something sweet and tangy at the same time.

Another moment of silence. “I just fell off the sofa,” David grumpily admits and the other boy snorts, while the black mass of fur blinks one too many eyes at David, purring in Matteo’s lap.

“We’ve all been there. I am Matteo by the way. Was in my room when you came,” he explains and yawns softly, letting the cat-shaped being in his lap play with the drawstring of his trousers. “This is Solomon. He came with the house. I think he likes us.”

David watches Matteo and lets his magic snake out, just a tendril of it, just to test the waters so to speak. And he almost hastily drags it back. Because Laura and him were taught about people like Matteo, about witches or wizards who fell in love with ordinary people and the children of those units. Matteo practically reeks of humanity, his aura and magic saturated with it. David has never been outside the community before and he was told it was unheard of, a scandal.

Blue eyes watch him with something like warm interest and he can hear the rushing of water in his ears, the echo of the waves but his magic doesn’t come like usual, flooding everything in sight. Instead, he does a very, very stupid thing. Only because he is curious but that still doesn’t excuse putting his entire leg in his mouth.

“I couldn’t help but feel your magic… Matteo, is one of your parents a _human_?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Matteo shoots back and where his voice was soft and his gaze was warm, it is now flinty and his eyes resemble a frozen lake more than the sky they did just seconds before. “I am going to bed. I hope you burn your tongue on my tea,” he grumbles and gathers Solomon into his arms as he stands. After a few breathless moments a door closes rather decisively and David is left to mull over every single decision that has lead him to this point.

Suffice to say that he can forget about sleep for tonight.


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sike i tricked you, this has three parts
> 
> anyway, David is longing in this and i hope you feel the Ghibli vibes i tried to convey, have fun reading the adventures of a very gay warlock
> 
> (also Matteo is autistic because that's a fact)

He wakes up to the smell of sizzling bacon and humming from the kitchen, blinking bleary eyes and rubbing them while yawning. He slept like shit but he is lucky, at least he had a somewhat comfortable bed to sleep in. He has heard the stories of apprentices lodging in sheds or sleeping on the floor while they were travelling.

“Ah, you are awake!” a voice calls out which David can pinpoint is Hans speaking. He sounds as jovial as he did the day before so Matteo seems to not have told him about the embarrassing incident. Or maybe it is because he is concentrated on setting the table, embellishing the cutlery with unnecessary but beautiful ornaments.

David leans against the doorframe to watch him tint the tablecloth a becoming soft green, humming a song while he does. Behind him, the cooking utensils are performing a little dance, frying bacon, flipping eggs, working the toaster and David cannot help but gape a little. Hans seems to be incredibly powerful to do all this at once.

His stomach rumbles demandingly and Hans laughs, sending little men made of paper to retrieve the other three occupants of the flat. They scurry off, seemingly in a haste, a little competition on who can get whom first. They seem to be vying for attention from one door in particular and at first David thinks it is because Mia sleeps in that room but she comes to the kitchen, yawning and rubbing her eyes, looking not as put together as she did the evening before but her icy eyes are still fierce, her hands flickering to light the scented candles on the table, little flames running to do her bidding. He would have thought ice to be her specialty, windows laced with flowers made from frozen water. But appearances are deceiving, he of all people knows that. Him and his strange powers, the water rushing through his veins.

Just who are those people and why would they harbour a half-mortal and a being of legend in their midst? They live so secluded that not even the council has spotted them and yet their house is practically thrumming with magic, David can feel it in his chest like a heartbeat. His grandfather would be fascinated by them, by their power.

But for some reason he wants to keep them a secret for now.

Maybe it is Hans and his pleasant chatter, enveloping him in warmth. Maybe it is Mia, armed to her teeth with fire and yet her icy eyes seem so very kind. Maybe it is Linn, who comes trudging into the kitchen and fixes tea that reminds David of Laura’s hugs, of a sunset on a balmy autumn evening, who looks so very human now in her tiredness, eyes still strange, teeth still sharp but her smile as shy as it was last night.

Maybe it is Matteo, who comes last, Solomon hot on his heels, the men made from paper clamouring for his attention. Matteo with his soft blue eyes that remind David of the ocean, of the portrait of a handsome youth he once saw in his uncle’s study. His dress robes had had that same colour and for one wild and strange moment David knows that Matteo would easily outshine that handsome painting if he wore the robes. He wants to pick up his paints to try and mix the colour just right but he doesn’t have them with him nor will he ever get the right hue, he just knows it. Even with magic. And even if he did, the warmth would be missing, that gentleness would be missing.

The atmosphere turns a little tense as Matteo grabs a slice of toast without wishing David a good morning like he did the others and chews at it thoughtfully. He looks so very tired, as if the weight of the world is dragging him down. Seems to mellow a bit and pets Solomon with his foot, picks the little paper men up gently and settles them on the table between little bouquets of wild flowers. He is so very strange. It makes David smile despite feeling a little miffed about being ignored. But being ignored is better than being shouted at or called names so he will take it.

After he has finished chewing, he looks at David and the air hums, invisible strings plucking an unheard song, swirling and dancing around them. When he smiles, David feels as if he is falling from unfathomable heights, his stomach churning, his heart pounding in his chest. Matteo wishes him a good morning and continues eating as if he hadn’t just shifted David’s entire world.

He isn’t used to feeling like this, as if something like a smile and a few words could tear down the walls he has so carefully erected around himself.

For a moment he remembers his grandfather’s friend, an ancient wizard who had chosen to spend the end of his days enclosed in a stone cage of his own making. It is strange that David did not get a power like that but a strong and wild magic that doesn’t even listen to him. But maybe this strange group can help him train so he finally is the grandson his grandfather always dreamed of. A mighty warlock in his own right, someone to carry on the family name, bring pride and power.

They set off to the beach after breakfast, Linn leading them as if she knows exactly where to go. The air is still warm with summer, gulls are calling overhead and the wind is dragging at Mia’s long dress like an overexcited puppy. It is peaceful here, the sunlight glinting off of small waves that are idly chasing each other.

Matteo sits off to the side, occupied with weaving something in his hands.

Solomon, who practically clung to the half-mortal like a much beloved pet, shifts and morphs into something that looks like a dog with pointed ears before the being as black as night rushes off to chase the waves, ancient magic following him in a wild rush that leaves David breathless. Matteo laughs and the sound is lovely, his hands that seemed so clumsy before deftly weaving a circlet from yellow flowers.

Dandelion. They flourish even in adversary, find the smallest cracks, the most unassuming water source and grow with a single-minded stubbornness to rival David’s own. In Matteo’s hands they become beautiful, little lion’s manes stretched towards the sunlight glinting off of the water.

It takes everything in him to sit on the sand and just breathe. He is not a patient person, has always burned brighter than others, has a deeply rooted ambition born of familial pressure and his own longing to succeed. He expected more than just a very cryptic “listen to the water and it will tell you where it wants to go.”

Matteo provides a great comfort, whether he is aware of it or not during the following days of training (or rather just meditating). He sits silently beside David, his hands occupied with weaving flowers into crowns and long strings of yellow and green. He fidgets sometimes and hums to himself, clicking his tongue in a strange rhythm but David is not bothered by his presence.

He tells David about his mother. How she was shunned for falling for a mortal, ostracised by the very council David’s grandfather is a leading member of. He has never felt more ashamed in his life than when he listens to Matteo’s soft voice speaking of his dear mother, the anger lacing his tone when he speaks about his father who left out of the blue one day, closing the door and never looking back.

Apologies come hard to David, he has fought tooth and nail for his harsh and commanding exterior and being vulnerable is dangerous even for warlocks like him.

For Matteo he might just try.

The words are sticking to his teeth, cloying his tongue but finally he utters them, stuttering and haltingly but the answering smile, warm and gentle like the golden hours in autumn makes something bright grow in his chest, spreading wings of calm fire.

Hours turn into days turn into weeks that he enjoys more and more and he writes to Laura, his tone joyous, enclosing a shell he found, a piece of sun-bleached driftwood, a vial full of the earth in Matteo’s garden because it is his garden, overflowing and wild and wonderful.

He tells her about Mia and Linn and Hans and Matteo, not in many words but enough to paint her a picture, encloses sketches of them sitting at the beach, feet buried in the sand, Matteo’s bright smile at Solomon’s antics visible with only a few strokes of David’s pencil.

She writes back and asks if he fell in love.

He does not deign her the answer she is obviously looking for because now as Hans so grandly said “begins his training proper”.

They meet as the beach as they always do and David steadfastly ignores the pounding of his heart, the rush in his ears as he spots Matteo smiling at him, a crown of flowers in his slender hands. They approach each other and a strange shyness befalls David, a bashfulness he has never felt in his entire life as Matteo carefully places the crown atop his head, his fingers resting in David’s curls for a moment and feeling very at home there.

His eyes are bright and earnest, there is a shy smile curling along his lips and David wants to kiss him.

He wants to kiss him so badly that he is scared to drown them where they stand.

Hans calls out to him, breaking the moment and he races across the warm sand to meet him at the shore, waves lapping at his toes, silvery fish flitting around his ankles as he carefully steps closer to Linn, who is already watching him from the water with calm eyes, wide trousers bunched up around her knees and maybe it is his overactive imagination but her legs seem to shimmer faintly, scales rippling on pale skin. Her expression is patient and she looks at him as if waiting for something.

For the first time for what feels like ages, David calls the water again.

It answers in a wild and happy roar, rising up, towering above him, pressing against his lungs, stealing his breath.

The dandelion crown in his hair never slips but he can feel his legs shake and the last thing he notices is a great explosion of magic smelling of flowers and Matteo calling out his name before everything goes dark.


End file.
